


Dreamboat Bunny

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Competition, M/M, Raffles trying in his backwards way to be nice to Bunny, Sailing, Set after "A Trap to Catch a Cracksman"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: To repay Bunny after the events of "A Trap to Catch a Cracksman," Raffles forgoes crime in favor of a more legal approach to quick money: a sailing competition. Never mind the fact that Bunny hasn't sailed in years and Raffles hasn't sailed...at all?





	1. Chapter 1

           Given what had happened so recently concerning telephone calls in the small hours of the morning, it is no wonder that when I heard the bell ringing my heart leapt and I felt myself pale and tremble as I rushed to the receiver. My fears, however, were foundation-less; it was with a breathless voice that I answered and my reply came in the form of a hearty laugh that sent a shiver of relief through my form.

           “Good Lord, Bunny, do you sound frightened!”

           My pulse slowed and a weak smile came to my face. “Could you expect anything else? The last ‘phone call I received nearly heralded our end!”

           “Quite true, quite true,” Raffles agreed. “Though I should hope this trend won’t continue too far into the future, dear Bunny. If every time I wish to speak to you without visiting I find you quivering out of your socks I shall have to rid myself of this thing once and for all!”

           “I certainly hope you shan’t, on my account. My nerves can be heightened, that’s no matter, so long as I know it’s your voice I shall hear.”

           “Oh, Bunny,” he said, in a softly indulgent tone that I treasured greatly. “What rot you talk! It may’nt always be welcome.”

           I did my best to convey incredulity over the line. “So long as you’re not fainting on the other end, I am certain it shall be.”

           I was graced with another of his chuckles. “Well, thank you, Bunny. You are such a sweet little rabbit, to the end.”

           I smiled, despite knowing he’d never be able to see. “Raffles,” I started, the sleep-induced fog finally lifting from my head. “Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy your calling, but what is it about? Have you got another job?”

           “Not exactly that,” said he, a faint hesitation evident.

           I suddenly had an idea, one which made my heart leap again. “Do you need me to take something on? Have you been called for more cricket?” I fear my excitement at the prospect was quite evident.

           I fancied I heard the end of a smile in his voice. “No, Bunny, you needn’t worry. I am free to be at your side for the foreseeable future.”

           “Good,” I said, and I confess I meant it. While I felt unbelievably eager to prove myself and my adequacy to Raffles, the actual doing of the thing gave me such tremors and nervousness that I felt I might be sick.

           The line was quiet for a moment; I held my breath.

           “Bunny?”

           I stifled a yawn. “I’m here, A.J.”

           “Oh, Bunny, I’m sorry for keeping you from your rest.” Evidently he had heard the sound of my fatigue, and I was filled with shame that I was unable to keep alert enough to capture him for any longer.

           “No, Raffles, it’s alright. I’m not so tired as all that.”

           “Oh, Bunny, no need to put up a front for me. I’ve been beastly to wake you at this hour and keep you up after such a long day.” We had spent the morning and afternoon together and separated only at evening because I, regrettably, had a prior engagement with one of my literary friends who had promised to review one of my works. The meeting had gone well enough, over dinner, though I doubted that anything would come of it, unfortunately. I hadn’t thought my separation from Raffles so painful as to necessitate a midnight call, though. “I’ll hang up and let you return to your bed, my boy.”

           I began a protest. It was cut off when I felt a second wave of fatigue pass over my eyelids and hold fast to my consciousness. Raffles’s rich tones chided me gently.

           “Come, Bunny. Back to bed, now.”

           “Alright,” I acquiesced. “But I’ll see you for breakfast?”

           “Of course!” he said, and I smiled. “Now, good-night, my Bunny.”

           “Good-night, Raffles,” I said, and replaced the receiver.

 

~

 

           The next morning was fair and as I opened my bedroom curtains I decided I would spurn the hansom for the pleasure of the walk to the Albany. My decision was made irrelevant, however, when I heard a knock upon my door. It was Raffles himself! As I lead him inside, I mentioned in an off-hand way my confusion about his coming here, as I was nearly certain it had been I that was supposed to visit at his rooms.

           “No, no, no, Bunny – after my behavior last night I simply couldn’t make you do that.”

           I gestured to the open window. “But it’s a beautiful day! I wouldn’t have minded the walk.”

           “Is it? I hardly noticed. Now, fetch your hat, Bunny, and let’s be off.”

           I found my hat fairly thrust into my hands as I was bustled out of my own door. We headed to a little café just ‘round the corner and found ourselves a table by the window, which I vainly fancied was chosen for my benefit as I had expressed during our journey my delight at seeing so many fellow Londoners out enjoying the summer air. After tea and toast, we alternated between nibbles of eggs and conversation. Raffles seemed to be exceptionally laconic and I found myself slightly concerned that I had upset him somehow. My fears were assuaged, though, when he gestured slyly for me to lean closer to him.

           “Now, don’t look now, Bunny, but did you notice that woman who came in just now with her son?”

           “With the purple hat?”

           The corners of his mouth quirked up. “That’s the one – Mrs. Bonheur. She’s the wife of the head of a sailing retreat off the coast of France. People go there for a sort of rejuvenation, if you will, and spend their days on the water with bottles of _du vin_ to spare.  Mrs. Bonheur _et fil_ are here advertising for an event of theirs this weekend. ”

           I hummed in appreciation of this information, irrelevant though it seemed at the moment. As I watched the woman out of the tail of my eye, I saw her sit down several tables over and remove the prominent feathered hat that had first caught my notice.

           Raffles fixed me with his clear, penetrating gaze. “Are you much of a sailor, Bunny?”

           “Raffles!” I hissed. “You said you  _didn’t_ have a job!”

           “I don’t.  I am merely interested in your capabilities as a first mate, my dear man, and the innocent variety, of that.”

           I sighed. “I have been sailing once or twice, I suppose, since school,”  I admitted. “I am not very good at it, though, so don’t expect to win any competitions.”

           “That is exactly what I expect to do,” he said  simply . “Mr. and Mrs. Bonheur are hosting a sailing race and the winner is to receive a two-hundred pound reward as well as a commemorative gold coin.”

           “But I can’t sail that well, Raffles!  And I thought we were in funds, ”  I added in a lower voice.

           Raffles ignored my latter protest.  “Well, I can’t sail at all, so you’ll have to teach me everything you know. We simply  _must_ win this competition, my dear boy – or have you another sort of job up your sleeve?” His expression was almost sardonic and I found myself flinch. Of course he would fix me with an impossible challenge only to make it sound like I was the one who desired it.

           “No,” I said. “I don’t.” I almost wished I did, though, if only to avoid our mutual humiliation at the competition.

           “ Good. Now, hurry up and finish your eggs, Bunny, they’re getting cold.”


	2. Chapter 2

           The next day I was sitting across from Raffles in our compartment on the train, making idle scratches in a journal while he dozed lightly, his cheek in his palm. All things considered, I would be the one doing the brunt of the work this weekend and thus was more deserving of a mid-journey siesta; yet, as always, my nerves kept me awake in a tangle of adrenaline and dread. 

           It was true that I had been sailing before. In fact, I had been in several races, though they were all amongst friends and quite casual – nothing like what Raffles was suggesting. The thought of the competition filled me with shame, for surely I would embarrass the one man I hoped only to impress. Any dazzle of mine somehow lingering in his eye would linger no longer: I would be as a Lucifer to him, fallen from my pedestal, low though it may be. If only he had thought to consult me beforehand! After consideration, I now would grasp at the opportunity to crack another man’s crib, rather than fail mightily to do anything of value while simultaneously cementing Raffles’s disappointment in me.

           Pausing from my mental anguish, I turned my eyes from my pencil tip and watched him sleeping. Had I been more skilled with a different sort of pencil-work, I would have begun sketching him as he was there: a primed revolver sitting forgotten upon a table, his eyes closed but mind alert solving some unseen conundrum, probably finding out how to make the best of my meager skill. He’d taken his jacket off and it was folded and laid across the seats beside him; his feet were upon the cushion beside me as he slumped; his elbow was against the armrest and his head against his hand. I somewhat longed to rouse him or have him take notice of my discomfort. His eyelids, however, remained softly resting against his cheekbones, their lashes mimicking the dark stain of his hair.

           I turned my face towards the window and thought purposefully of nothing.

 

~

 

           Our train arrived at about two-fifteen and as we got off the sun was shining and casting sparkles on the metal of the train and the sea, which could be glimpsed as one rounded the crest of a hill and saw past the tops of the low trees. Raffles had his bags under his arms and his hat on head, and I followed his blue-and-grey blazer through the crowd of elbows and dusty traveling jackets. He signaled to a cab driver and we hefted our luggage onto the top of a hansom, climbed inside, and Raffles directed the driver to our destination before leaning his shoulder against mine and staring pleasantly out the window.

           “Another marvelous day, eh, Bunny?” he commented.

           I was somewhat bothered with him at this point. I had been stewing in my anxieties for the remainder of the train ride and now found a greater fault with my seemingly faultless friend than I would have had he awoken earlier to rouse me from my depression. Thus, it was with a tainted voice that I responded, dully, “Yes, rather.”

           Raffles seemed immune to concern for me. “Nearly perfect for sailing. I expect the only other thing we would want would be clouds to dull the reflection off the water. But, then, you’re the expert, not me. What do you say, Bunny?” He turned and smiled at me and I felt my irritation melt like candle wax.

           “Clouds would be nicer,” I agreed grudgingly. “But then the water would be less clear, as well. When it’s this bright out you can see what’s underneath you so you don’t hit upon a hidden rock or some such.”

           “I bow to your expertise,” said he, with a solemn nodding of his curly head. I felt rather preened by him at that time, though I primarily chalked it up to him wanting to get on my good side before the competition. “Have you any other knowledge to impart, my dear chap?”

           “Nothing of any use,” I confessed. “Mostly I know about how to balance a book in one hand and a splashing drink in the other, and how to write without your letters getting misshapen from the rocking.”

           Raffles chuckled. “That all sounds rather interesting. I shall have to come sailing with you another time, when we are able to test your skills at more casual feats.”

           The cab pulled over a hill and we were able to see the full scope of the bay before us. The resort was nestled just under a steep cliff and spread its tentacles out towards the sea in the form of pavilions and stray people biking and toting children and luggage from the road to their rooms. Curving in a half-moon shape, the bay stuck out in a sort of peninsula and was mostly free from trees and shrubbery.

           Having arrived, we carried our things, weaving between other visitors to get to the entrance. There was a table where competition participants were to sign in and Raffles did the honors with a flourish while I balanced his bags atop mine. The man seated behind the table looked appraisingly at Raffles, and asked him in slightly accented but otherwise perfect English whether he would be captaining solo or in the doubles.

           “It’s doubles for us,” said Raffles, gesturing at me. “And I do believe I’m the first mate.”

           I smiled, surprised. The man nodded his appreciation and waved us off with a wish of good luck. When we found ourselves unpacked and smoking Sullivans on the balcony, I raised the point to Raffles.

           “Do you really mean me to captain us?”

           Raffles kept his squinting gaze pointed towards the sea. “Why, of course, Bunny! Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one who knows what he’s doing.”

           “But,” I faltered, trying to find some objection. “Wouldn’t you rather be captain?”

           “I have every faith in your abilities.”

           My heart sank. “Thank you,” I mumbled, though I didn’t really mean it.

           The rest of the day passed lazily enough. We dined at the resort’s club, had a bit of brandy, and conversed lightly about our plan. Raffles seemed to think the one day of preparation given to us before the real competition on Sunday was enough, but I doubted him heavily. My spirits were lowered, and I confess I must have been a rather poor companion as we took a stroll along the beach, arm-in-arm. Raffles, to his merit, did his best to cheer me.

           “’So now on sand they walk’d, and now on cliff,’” he mused, as we did just that. “It’s a beautiful country, isn’t it, Bunny?”

           I said that it was.

           “I rather think I’d like to retire someplace like this, with just enough grass to grow something – flowers, probably – but enough sand to feel like the sea.”

           We had climbed up a steady hill along the back end of the cliff and were now standing atop it, gazing down amongst softly blowing sea roses. Raffles tightened his grip upon my arm as he mentioned the _Beach at Cabasson_. I found his attentions gratifying, yet not enough to soothe the aching of my shoulders upon whom too heavy of a burden had been placed. It was with a quiet nod, then, and without my customary conversation that I responded to him.

           Raffles turned his reverent gaze from the waters before us and smiled at me. “Oh, Bunny, you do so prettily match the scenery.”

           I flushed under his praises and mumbled something irrelevant. Had I been able to steel myself against this obvious flattery, I would have, for I knew it by then to be merely a prelude to some other request of me. I have always, however, found Raffles irresistible and this was no exception. When he tugged me away from the cliff’s edge and towards a small outcropping of boulders, I put up not even a token protest and let him kiss me until I certainly did match the flowers in color, if not in delicacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raffles quotes Tennyson's poem "Sea Dreams" and the _Beach at Cabasson_ is a real painting by Henri Edmond Cross, a French painter, in case you wanted to check them out.  
>  Thank you for reading!  
> \- M


	3. Chapter 3

           I don’t know whether you have ever experienced such a thing, but I have often had dreams that were so tangible – pleasant or otherwise – that I wholeheartedly believed they were real. I mention this because on the Saturday before the boat race, the one day that we had for practice, I had a dream of this variety. In the dream, it was raining. The rain was so heavy and overbearing that all the boats (which had been tied to the dock and not put away in the boat-shed, for some reason) were filled to the brim with water. Dream Raffles, of course, still wished to go out in one of these boats, and he dragged me along with him. We selected one of the boats and set off, riding very low because of the extra weight of water that neither of us had bothered to empty. While we were out on the sea, with the waves rocking us to and fro roughly, the skies kept pouring and there was now and then a stab of lightening off the far horizon. I told Raffles we should head in, but dream Raffles was like true Raffles in his stubbornness. We stayed out.

           I relate this tale because the dream ended with a large whale swallowing us both like a veritable pair of Jonahs, at which point I startled awake, crying out in the dark for my dear friend who had crept into the room late that night and was sleeping beside me in the bed. My cries and thrashings had woken him, as well, and he was forced to shake me by the shoulders several times to release me from the dream’s hold.

           “Bunny! Bunny, wake up!” he hissed, careful to be quiet despite my horror. “It was only a dream, Bunny – a dream.”

           I came back to myself and sat, gasping, with my hands fisted in the coverlets. I stared for quite a long moment at Raffles, ostensibly to ascertain whether his words were, in fact, the truth. His hand came to rest atop my head and he petted me and whispered nonsense. This continued until my heart had slowed to a reasonable rate, though I cannot be sure whether it helped or hindered the effort.

           “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

           I could tell that Raffles was tired, yet he smiled and told me not to worry about it.

           “Don’t be sorry, Bunny. You are the one person I cannot be bothered with despite them rousing me quite rudely in the middle of the night.” This was delivered with one of Raffles’s dear grins, albeit a slightly fatigued version, and I smiled back at him.

           Raffles had said that it was the middle of the night, and he was true – the clock on the wall read half-past three – but it must also be noted that it was currently the height of the summer months and the sun was nearly starting to rise. The skies were grey, yes, but unlike in my dream they were grey with approaching sunlight. While we relaxed together once more, I watched the colors paint the horizon over Raffles’s sculpted shoulder and felt akin to Michelangelo after a long night of work catching sight of the sunrise past his own beautiful curly head1.

 

~

 

           Later, when we had dressed and broken our fasts, I found myself lugging the mast of our ship and one end of the hull as Raffles walked ahead of me, carrying boom and sail, as well as the other end of the hull. We marched up to the edge of the water and out onto a long wooden dock with horn cleats at regularly spaced intervals on both sides. Most of the spaces had already been taken at this point, though several of the ones near the coast were still open. Raffles and I set our hull down a trifle awkwardly on the sand just before the dock and began piecing the boat together.

           Raffles took to knot tying as he did to everything else; I only had to show him once what had taken me three or perhaps four tries to learn. I was not, however, bitter about this fact, for it meant that I was able to delegate a significant portion of the work onto my eager apprentice and not have to supervise the entire operation. While he was busying himself with tying the sail and jib onto the mast, I would adjust the tightness and fit of the sheets and tacks, as well as ensuring that the rudder was secure and that we had not damaged the keel when we set it down.

           At last the boat was ready to sail, and we pushed it carefully into the water with no small amount of pride. The sun was now about mid-way to its zenith and the water was sparkling like the finest diamond, a fact that I am certain Raffles appreciated as he gazed out at the waves with one of his soft smiles. He looked then, to me, and I was struck by how well the sea atmosphere seemed to suit him: his curls tousled by the breeze, the sunlight offering a bronzed glow to his skin, his eyes glittering in anticipation of the day’s activities. I confess his appearances were most likely amplified by those of the lesser beings around him, myself especially. In bright sunlight I tended to freckle and was no doubt doing so then.

           Raffles rubbed his hands together. “Your orders, dear Bunny?”

           I stuttered something about letting out the sail and untying the cleat.

           He nodded and went to it. I gingerly set first one foot and then the other in the boat, then moved over so Raffles could do the same. When we were seated – I at the tiller and Raffles closer to the bow so as to work the sails – I shoved off from the dock.

           “Pull the sail in just a little,” I instructed. “It needs to come in until it smooths out.”

           We drifted away and soon found ourselves amongst several other small boats of similar type. Most of the other sailors were competing solo, but there were several other doubles as well. We nearly collided with a pair of ladies but were saved when the one shouted and shoved at our hull.

           As the day progressed, I taught Raffles fumblingly how to manage the sails. I paid special attention to what one should do when turning and how to adjust the speed at which one moved. My instructions were no doubt convoluted and muddled from years without practice, but he took them as only he could and became nearly as skilled as myself by the time we paused for lunch.

           Selecting one of the sandwiches Raffles had packed for us, I mentioned his natural aptitude with an aim to complimenting him.

           “It is entirely the fault of my instructor,” he said. I doubted that, yet remained silent.

           Indeed, the day was not all pleasantness. Several times when we were turning or when the wind changed, Raffles was caught across the shoulder and neck by the boom. Once, we took a turn too sharply and my hat fell into the water (Raffles was able to retrieve it again, but by that time it had been soaked). The most notable inconvenience was the sunburn I received along my neck and forearms, which had been bared early on in our activities when I had removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. Raffles, of course, what with his constant cricket, suffered not at all from the bright rays.

           Come evening, we were both sun-tired and sore as we tied our boat to the dock. The walk back to the resort’s hotel was filled with a comfortable silence and I found myself in a warm bath to soothe my aching and long-unused mucles within a quarter of an hour. I reflected on the day’s work and was happy to say that we had certainly progressed, and even if we did not win the competition, I had avoided making a fool of myself while teaching and that was certainly something to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Bunny is referencing Michelangelo's sculpture of David, here.


	4. Chapter 4

           I awoke on Sunday to a cold and empty bed beside me, a situation that was not unusual yet always disappointing. Remembrance of the competition seeped into my consciousness and settled into the pit of my stomach like lead as I dressed and freshened up. Walking down the hallway into the resort’s restaurant for breakfast, I found myself searching for any sign of my absent companion and hoping to simply run off with him before the race even began. I saw the man who had been in charge of signing the competitors in and I was sorely tempted to go up to him and remove our names from the list. However, whether for good or for bad, fear of Raffles’s ire kept me in my seat.

           I have mentioned before that most of the other competitors were singles. They were also almost entirely made up of that singular class of young gentlemen who appear too rough for everyday socializing yet too cultured to be merchant sailors. Their hides were all tanned and their heads were all closely-cropped; the main variation amongst them was the color of their sun-bleached blazers. Raffles and I had not bothered much to join these men in conversation and when we had tried, we had been rudely rebuffed with quiet glares and significant grunts. Thus, we had, for the most part, kept to ourselves.

           While sipping nervously at my tea, however, I caught sight of those two young ladies entered in the doubles with whom we had nearly collided on the day previous. They were sitting about a table and a half away from where I was and appeared to be engaged in serious conversation about the competition. Given that I had no real strategy prepared, I endeavored to listen in on their planning.

           “. . . beyond the second island,” the woman with the blue ribbon in her hair was telling her partner. “If you increase the slack just past the edge of it you’ll catch the wind full on and beat everyone on the other side.”

           I perked my ears at this helpful information. The woman’s partner, with a yellow ribbon in her blonde curls, seemed more skeptical.

           “But the far side of the island ends nearly twice as far from the center of the bay. We’ll be out to sea practically at that point.”

           “Yes,” the woman with the blue ribbon assented. “But you’ll have had such a head-start on the others that it won’t matter. And by that time, the wind is sure to have curled again. Have you read the barometer yet today?”

           The woman with the yellow ribbon frowned. “No. Have you?”

           “I have. And trust me, Cathy, the wind will be on our side.”

           I smiled to myself. Raffles may be out finding ways to rig the competition to our favor, yet here was I, finding perfectly legal ways to win. I listened to the ladies’ conversation for a few moments more, but found nothing else of value; they had turned to more idle topics.

           Alas, I was not able to tell Raffles of my newfound shortcut for he did not appear until nearly the exact moment when we were to board our vessels. I had to piece together our boat and tie the knots all on my own and my heart was beating up in the roof of my mouth by the time he deigned to join me.

           “I’m sorry I’m late, Bunny,” he had the grace to say. “But I was rather caught up in something just now.”

           I would have told him then of my plan, yet we were hardly out of range of prying ears and I thought it better to wait. “It’s no matter. I have something of my own and I rather think it will work.”

           Raffles’s eye glittered with something akin to amusement. “Have you now?”

           “I have, actually.” Here I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. “I found out about a shortcut in the course.”

           While I knew that Raffles would not take the news as enthusiastically as I would, were he the one to deliver it, I had expected at least some show of appreciation. The lackluster “Oh?” he gave left me feeling rather put out, and I was vexed as to why he thought the information of no consequence.

           “It’s just past the second island,” I continued. “And the wind is just right for it, so I’ve heard.”

           “So you’ve heard?”

           “Well, yes.” I admitted that I had not learned of this entirely on my own but had, in fact, overheard others speaking of it.

           Raffles nodded his head absentmindedly as I spoke, then shushed me when the M.C. stepped onto his platform.

           “Doubles contestants! You may now board your boats!”

           We all did as commanded.

           “Let loose your sails!” he cried, then, “Untie your anchors! You will begin in 3… 2… 1… –!”

           I felt my stomach churn along with the water beneath me as the fatal shot carried across the bay. Raffles shoved us away from the dock with a powerful thrust and we were out in the water promptly. There was a clog as all the boats attempted to enter the pathway directed but soon the going smoothed out and we found ourselves just a few places from the middle of the pack. Boats crashed into the marker buoys – sails collided against neighboring sails – the continuing thump of hull against hull lent a sort of rhythm to the whole procedure.

           I am not certain you would be able to get the correct picture of it simply by imagining, so I will keep my description of the course sparse. It consisted primarily of three features: the first was a curving pathway around the bay, the second was a figure-eight shape around two islands (my shortcut cut around the second of these), and the third was a long, straight run to the finish line. The wind did indeed seem to be in our favor, and the curved section proved without difficulty for we two amateurs. The fact proved true for our competitors, also, however, so we remained at about the same position throughout that section.

           Then came the islands. I confess that I made several significant blunders whilst we spun ‘round the first: I forgot to inform Raffles to pull the sail in, which lost us our speed, and I nearly turned us into the sand on the far side of the island, which caused us to swerve most ungracefully and lose several places in the pack. My hopes were not dashed, however, because we were then upon the second island.

           I caught sight of my lady accomplices turning out of the marked lane into a thin passage that was mostly concealed by low-hanging branches and overgrown bushes. I cried out to Raffles to pull the sail in just in time and we avoided the majority of the snags, though we both caught a couple of branches across the face and arms. The woman with the blue ribbon had been correct: we sped through that passage like a couple of dogs on the scent and came out with a full sail on the far side.

           The yellow-ribboned woman, Catherine, had also been correct, and Raffles reminded me of the fact that we were rather farther out than our competitors.

           “Bunny!” he scolded. “Look where we are now! Did you know where this would lead?”

           I had no time for conversation, though, so caught up in the game was I. “Don’t worry, Raffles, I know what I’m doing.”

           Indeed, it seemed that I knew rather more than I had thought: as we pulled back into the lane, the only boat even in sight was that of our lady competitors and they were only a short distance ahead. All the other boats appeared to have either gotten so far ahead of us that we were now racing for last place, or they had, hopefully, all gotten stuck around the near side of that second island. Given that I didn’t know which, you can imagine my state of mind as we sped into the final section of the race and saw that the only boat in front of us was that which I have mentioned.

           “Oh, Bunny,” Raffles whispered reverently as we knocked against the hull of the ladies’ boat. “You actually did have a plan.”

           We rode neck and neck to those women and I must say they put up quite a fight. Luck won out over skill, however, and our boat happened to be on the windward side; we pulled just ahead of them at the last minute and crashed our bow into the sand rather roughly to break the tape.

           I leapt up and Raffles released the sails. We pulled our boat fully onto the land and shook hands with the M.C., who had relocated to the finish line along with several photographers and a woman bearing the prizes.

           “Congratulations, Bunny!” Raffles murmured in my ear as we smiled for our third picture. “We not only win but also get some rather impressive publicity!”

           I could only smile as my heart slowed to a reasonable rate. And to think that I had done this completely on my own! My sense of confidence was soaring with the birds and I think I have never felt more fêted in my life than I was by both the resort officials and my dear companion. As we took the prizes in hand and felt the weight of the pound notes and gold coin, I dare say we must have been glowing.

           This champion’s attitude continued for the rest of the evening. We found ourselves not only given the best places in the hotel’s restaurant, and our meal paid for courtesy of the resort, but our rooms had been decorated in our absence with a glorious array of flowers and gold-tinted ribbons. As we lay our tired forms down on my bed, Raffles commented on the good fortune of the day.

           “And to think I planned that whole thing out for nothing!”

           I laughed weakly, confused. “What?” I asked. “You planned something?”

           Here Raffles chuckled heartily and I felt a sick embarrassment creep in. “My dear chap, I planned the whole thing besides your little shortcut! Did you not notice I was gone the whole morning?”

           “I could hardly have missed it! Where were you?”

           “Boring holes in all the other boats’ hulls,” he declared. “And stopping them up loosely with cork. Whence the boats came upon that rough rocky area by that second island – the bit that you avoided for us – the cork would come out and their boats would start sinking! If only those ladies hadn’t had the good sense – or, rather, never-mind, since they’re the reason you knew about it in the first place.”

           All was suddenly clear for me. I saw how little my own efforts had been in comparison to his and how silly that pride of mine had been earlier. I could not say anything, then, so full of shame was I. To think I could have pulled the whole thing off myself – _I_ , a lowly amateur, with half so much practice as these other johnnies!

           Raffles noticed my dampening mood. “Bunny,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course your shortcut was helpful – ridiculously so, indeed. I rather thought you knew I’d done something.”

           I gave a sardonic sort of chuckle, then. Yes, I had supposed he’d done something, but I’d rather forgotten that supposition until now. So I said, “No, I didn’t,” and turned away.

           Raffles laid his hand upon my shoulder. “Bunny, I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

           This again! I’m sure you know how little that statement meant to me at that moment. I ignored him.

           He continued, “I saw how hard you’d been trying to teach me how to sail, and I knew that, despite your best efforts, there was no way that you could teach me everything in one day. It was foolish of me to even enter us in this thing and I put an inordinate amount of pressure on you, dear boy. So, I thought, to save you embarrassment, I should find a way to rig the competition. I had brought along my tools, you see, just in case, and I knew I could make the holes, but the problem came in when I realized that they’d notice and the competition might be canceled. Late last night – or early this morning, depending – I snuck out of your room and down into the wine cellar. I’d had an idea that they might have extra cork lying around, and I was right: I found a whole barrel of it. So, all through the wee hours I toiled away making about six or seven holes in each boat and stuffing them with cork. I had just enough time to peel away from the dock and change – for I was still in my night-clothes, you see – before meeting you again for the competition. I’m dreadfully sorry I didn’t tell you, Bunny, but there really was no time.”

           “I found time to tell you of my plan!” I huffed, still vexed with him (though he was making that a trifle difficult as he was stroking my arm and planting kisses along my neck all the while he was talking).

           “Yes, but Bunny, it’s one thing to mention a shortcut – it’s another altogether to mention you’ve cheated. And anyway, when you told me of your plan, I thought there might not even be need to tell you; you could just think it was your doing that saved us.”

           “That turned out splendidly,” I grumbled.

           “Bunny, Bunny,” he muttered. “Must you be so difficult? I am trying to apologize.”

           I sighed. My irritation was finally starting to crack. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, too. I just didn’t want you to think that I was a poor sailor.”

           Raffles chuckled. “Bunny, why on earth should I think you a poor sailor? You’re better than I am.”

           “Yes, but I could have lost the competition and the prize for us.”

           “But you didn’t.”

           “Yes, and apparently that’s all _your_ doing. I’ve been no use at all.”

           Raffles removed himself from me, then, and flopped onto his back. “Bunny, I knew absolutely nothing about how to sail before this weekend. Over the course of one day – _one day_ – you managed to teach me enough that I am now about pedestrian at it. If nothing else, that makes you one stellar teacher and that is nothing to scoff at.”

           I considered his words. I was still terribly sore over the realization that I hadn’t been as marvelous as I thought I’d been, yet I found that it didn’t prick at me quite as much as it had before. His kindness, his compliments, and other things of his, as well, softened me to his viewpoint. Perhaps Raffles had been a bit of a brute, and perhaps he should have told me earlier of his plan to bore the boats, but perhaps I was also being a trifle dramatic. We did win, after all, and I found evidence enough of that as I stared gloomily out at the gilded room. I turned over, then, and faced Raffles.

           “It’s alright, Raffles. I forgive you. Though,” I added, with a significant twinkle in my eye, “you may wish to make sure of that.”

           Raffles grinned. “Anything for you, my darling Bunny."

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Dreamboat Annie_ by Heart. Thanks for reading!  
>  \- M


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